Sunday

It's Friday. We're almost there.

I think the days of the week are somewhat like the newspaper delivery. (For those of you who don't get newspaper delivery, it's an antiquated method of delivering news and information, daily, on paper. The print rubs off on your fingers, and the paper itself lines pet cages or compost bins, or ends up in the recycle bin, sometimes without being read. It comes in sections which makes for easy sharing. It's a quiet indulgence, free of electronics. But I digress....)

The newspaper parallels my expectations for each day of the week. Sunday is the ultimate, plump and fluffy with the promise of a lazy day. Jammies, coffee, feet up, no deadlines - except the one imposed by Monday. Slim, devoid of everything that Sunday was made of. But Tuesday's paper is a little thicker, as are the following days' (do they have names?), building, always building, to the Sunday paper and the fat pleasure of the day.

So, congratulations. We've made it to Friday. But, hang in there, the big payoff is still two days away.

(Thanks, Teja.)